The Fraterbury Tales

Here begins the Book of the Tales of Fraterbury
April hits with a shower of beer and booze
after March leaveth remnants of basketball and sloots
and soaked each man’s liver with liquor
them disproving that beer afterwards makes one sicker
When formal has, with its reputation,
quickened the brothers’ pulses with anticipation
For soon they shall be thoroughly inebriated
the greatest tolerance thoroughly celebrated
Every brother has at least one story
of which most involve details quite carnal and gory

Fraternity culture prods them on to rage
their partying only increasing with age
Dates they seek for formal, hunting strange box
with the cunning and guile of the fox.
From between every sorority girl’s legs
the sweet nectar every brother begs
To the Lake of the Ozarks they went
with the money they saved soon to be spent
on clothes, rooms, food, and booze
All of the money brothers gladly lose
Eager to set off on my journey
to Kirkwood Lodge, the place of debauchery
I came at noon to the fraternity
There were four men, including me
Three worthy brothers, much celebrated
and a fucking pledge, not yet initiated
That towards the Ozarks soon would drive
and for women and booze heartily strive
And verily, we were drunk as hell.
All except pledge, for him we did tell
That he would be the designated driver
Because “responsibility is what we strive for”
We made the agreement that we’d leave early
So we could tell stories and drive leisurely
and so that we would arrive with the beer
which to us, more than life itself, is dear.
Each of us had a tale
We decided not to include the females
Tales of brotherhood and misogyny I write here
So that others may be enthralled to hear
The oldest, Mister Tredway’s is first to be told
Because that mean motherfucker is old.

The Canterbury tales are actually pretty frat. They’re all about fucking. And roosters, which are undeniably frat, because they exist solely for the purpose of fucking hens and kicking the shit out of lesser roosters.
This, on the other hand, is shit. I would rather listen to Wiz Khalifa read Toni Morrison than read this again.